


Another Dimension

by Sosso2002



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sosso2002/pseuds/Sosso2002
Summary: Clary, Jace, Simon, Isabelle, Alec, Magnus, Raphael, Luke and the Lightwoods read about their lives in another dimension (a characters read the books fanfiction)





	1. Raziel

**Author's Note:**

> spoiler of city of glass the third book of the mortal instruments series

Clary, Jace, Alce, Magnus, Isabelle, Robert, Marise, Maia, Simon, Raphael all appared in a white room in front of an angel, the angel Ithuriel, “ before you all start yelling at me or at each other you are here bacuse there are as you know many alternatives realities I want you to know another one, maybe it will help you with what is appening in your reality. Sa what do you want to know about?” Somehow they all agree on what they wanted to be show in less than a minute “we want to know if the other reality Valentine  raise Raziel” Isabelle spoke firm “and I shall show you that” the angel  disappeared and at his place there was a page written “read this” the voice of the angel was heard, so Alec began.   **“I’m going to raise the Angel now,” he said. “And I want you to watch as it happens.” There was a bitter taste in Clary’s mouth. I know why you’re so obsessed with my mother. Because she was the one thing you thought you had total control over that ever turned around and bit you. You thought you owned her and you didn’t. That’s why you want her here, right now, to witness you winning. That’s why you’ll make do with me.”** “that was harsh, I like you more after this, idon’t know why” Maia interrupted the black haired shadowhunter   **“The Sword bit farther into her cheek. Valentine said, “Look at me, Clary.” She looked. She didn’t want to, but the pain was too much—her head jerked to the side almost against her will, the blood dripping in great fat drops down her face, splattering the sand. A nauseous pain gripped her as she raised her head to look at her father. He was gazing down at the blade of Maellartach.”** “what’s that?” Simon asked the others in the room “that’s the name of the soul sword” Robert explained to him **It, too, was stained with her blood. When he glanced back at her, there was a strange light in his eyes. “Blood is needed to complete this ceremony,” he said. “I intended to use my own, but when I saw you in the lake, I knew it was Raziel’s way of telling me to use my daughter’s instead. It’s why I cleared your blood of the lake’s taint. You are purified now—purified and ready. So thank you, Clarissa, for the use of your blood.” And in some way, Clary thought, he meant it, meant his gratitude. He had long ago lost the ability to distinguish between force and cooperation, between fear and willingness, between love and torture. And with that realization came a rush of numbness—what was the point of hating Valentine for being a monster when he didn’t even know he was one? “And now,” Valentine said, “I just need a bit more,” and Clary thought, A bit more what?—just as he swung the Sword back and the starlight exploded off it, and she thought, Of course. It’s not just blood he wants, but death. The Sword had fed itself on enough blood by now; it probably had a taste for it, just like Valentine himself. Her eyes followed Maellartach’s black light as it sliced toward her— And went flying. Knocked out of Valentine’s hand, it hurtled into the darkness. Valentine’s eyes went wide; his gaze flicked down, fastening first on his bleeding sword hand—and then he looked up and saw, at the same moment that Clary did, what had struck the Mortal Sword from his grasp. Jace, a familiar-looking sword gripped in his left hand, stood at the edge of a rise of sand, barely a foot from Valentine.”** “Jace to the rescue” mused Isabelle “what can I say I’m the bast, I can’t help it” “shut up Jace” Alec silenced his parabatai  **“Clary could see from the older man’s expression that he hadn’t heard Jace approach any more than she had. Clary’s heart caught at the sight of him. Dried blood crusted the side of his face, and there was a livid red mark at his throat. His eyes shone like mirrors, and in the witchlight they looked black—black as Sebastian’s.”** “he also exist in theother dimension?” “that son of a bitch” **“Clary,” he said, not taking his eyes off his father. “Clary, are you all right?” Jace! She struggled to say his name, but nothing could pass the blockage in her throat. She felt as if she were choking. “She can’t answer you,” said Valentine. “She can’t speak.” Jace’s eyes flashed. “What have you done to her?” He jabbed the sword toward Valentine, who took a step back. The look on Valentine’s face was wary but not frightened. There was a calculation to his expression that Clary didn’t like. She knew she ought to feel triumphant, but she didn’t—if anything, she felt more panicked than she had a moment ago. She’d realized that Valentine was going to kill her—had accepted it—and now Jace was here, and her fear had expanded to encompass him as well. And he looked so … destroyed. His gear was ripped halfway open down one arm, and the skin beneath was crisscrossed with white lines. His shirt was torn across the front, and there was a fading iratze over his heart that had not quite managed to erase the angry red scar beneath it. Dirt stained his clothes, as if he’d been rolling around on the ground. But it was his expression that frightened her the most. It was so—bleak.”** “what the hell happened to you?” Isabelle was scared for her adopted brother “I don’t know maybe the thing will tell us” Jace tried to reassure her “the thing?” “I don’t know how to call it. A book is more like” **“A Rune of Quietude. She won’t be hurt by it.” Valentine’s eyes fastened on Jace—hungrily, Clary thought, as if he were drinking in the sight of him. “I don’t suppose,” Valentine asked, “that you’ve come to join me? To be blessed by the Angel beside me?” Jace’s expression didn’t change. His eyes were fixed on his adoptive father, and there was nothing in them—no lingering shred of affection or love or memory. There wasn’t even any hatred. Just … disdain, Clary thought. A cold disdain. “I know what you’re planning to do,” Jace said. “I know why you’re summoning the Angel. And I won’t let you do it. I’ve already sent Isabelle”** “yay I’m mentioned” **“ to warn the army—” “Warnings will do them little good. This is not the sort of danger you can run from.” Valentine’s gaze flicked down to Jace’s sword. “Put that down,” he began, “and we can talk—” He broke off then. “That’s not your sword. That’s a Morgenstern sword.”**

 **Jace smiled, a dark, sweet smile. “It was Jonathan’s. He’s dead now.” “** there was a moment of happines in all of the occupants of the room **“ Valentine looked stunned. “You mean—” “I took it from the ground where he’d dropped it,” Jace said, without emotion, “after I killed him.” Valentine seemed dumbfounded. “You killed Jonathan? How could you have?” “He would have killed me,” said Jace. “I had no choice.” “I didn’t mean that.” Valentine shook his head; he still looked stunned, like a boxer who’d been hit too hard in the moment before he collapsed to the mat. “I raised Jonathan—I trained him myself. There was no better warrior.” “Apparently,” Jace said, “there was.” “** “ why are you always so arrogant?” “ **“But—” And Valentine’s voice cracked, the first time Clary had ever heard a flaw in the smooth, unruffled facade of that voice. “But he was your brother.” “No. He wasn’t.” Jace took a step forward, nudging the blade an inch closer to Valentine’s heart. “What happened to my real father? Isabelle said he died in a raid, but did he really? Did you kill him like you killed my mother?” Valentine still looked stunned. Clary sensed that he was fighting for control—fighting against grief? Or just afraid to die? “I didn’t kill your mother. She took her own life. I cut you out of her dead body. If I hadn’t done that, you would have died along with her.””** Everyone was orrified at the tought of what Valentine had just said but no one said a word **“ “But why? Why did you do it? You didn’t need a son; you had a son!” Jace looked deadly in the moonlight, Clary thought, deadly and strange, like someone she didn’t know. The hand that held the sword toward Valentine’s throat was unwavering. “Tell me the truth,” Jace said. “No more lies about how we’re the same flesh and blood. Parents lie to their children, but you—you’re not my father. And I want the truth.” “It wasn’t a son I needed,” Valentine said. “It was a soldier. I had thought Jonathan might be that soldier, but he had too much of the demon nature in him. He was too savage, too sudden, not subtle enough. I feared even then, when he was barely out of infancy, that he would never have the patience or the compassion to follow me, to lead the Clave in my footsteps. So I tried again with you. And with you I had the opposite trouble. You were too gentle. Too empathic. You felt others’ pain as if it were your own; you couldn’t even bear the death of your pets. Understand this, my son—I loved you for those things. But the very things I loved about you made you no use to me.” “So you thought I was soft and useless,” said Jace. “I suppose it will be surprising for you, then, when your soft and useless son cuts your throat.” “We’ve been through this.” Valentine’s voice was steady, but Clary thought she could see the sweat gleaming at his temples, at the base of his throat. “You wouldn’t do that. You didn’t want to do it at Renwick’s, and you don’t want to do it now.” “You’re wrong.” Jace spoke in a measured tone. “I have regretted not killing you every day since I let you go. My brother Max is dead because I didn’t kill you that day.”** Marise began crying holding into her son aand daughter as the this word were said, Max hadn’t survived in the other dimension and even if it was a different Max it was still Max **“” Dozens, maybe hundreds, are dead because I stayed my hand. I know your plan. I know you hope to slaughter almost every Shadowhunter in Idris. And I ask myself: How many more have to die before I do what I should have done on Blackwell’s Island? No,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will.” “Don’t do this,” said Valentine. “Please. I don’t want to—” “To die? No one wants to die, Father.” The point of Jace’s sword slipped lower, and then lower until it was resting over Valentine’s heart. Jace’s face was calm, the face of an angel dispatching divine justice. “Do you have any last words?” “Jonathan—” Blood spotted Valentine’s shirt where the tip of the blade rested, and Clary saw, in her mind’s eye, Jace at Renwick’s, his hand shaking, not wanting to hurt his father. And Valentine taunting him. Drive the blade in. Three inches—maybe four. It wasn’t like that now. Jace’s hand was steady. And Valentine looked afraid. “Last words,” hissed Jace. “What are they?” Valentine raised his head. His black eyes as he looked at the boy in front of him were grave. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I am so sorry.” He stretched out a hand, as if he meant to reach out to Jace, even to touch him—his hand turned, palm up, the fingers opening—and then there was a silver flash and something flew by Clary in the darkness like a bullet shot out of a gun. She felt displaced air brush her cheek as it passed, and then Valentine had caught it out of the air, a long tongue of silver fire that flashed once in his hand as he brought it down. It was the Mortal Sword. It left a tracery of black light on the air as Valentine drove the blade of it into Jace’s heart. Jace’s eyes flew wide. A look of disbelieving confusion passed over his face; he glanced down at himself, where Maellartach stuck grotesquely out of his chest—it looked more bizarre than horrible, like a prop from a nightmare that made no logical sense. Valentine drew his hand back then, jerking the Sword out of Jace’s chest the way he might have jerked a dagger from its scabbard; as if it had been all that was holding him up, Jace went to his knees. His sword slid from his grasp and hit the damp earth. He looked down at it in puzzlement, as if he had no idea why he had been holding it, or why he had let it go. He opened his mouth as if to ask the question, and blood poured over his chin, staining what was left of his ragged shirt. Everything after that seemed to Clary to happen very slowly, as if time were stretching itself out.”** “you are dead” it was only a wisper but Jace sill heard Clary “it’s not me it’s a possibility, but I won’t die I promise you” **“ She saw Valentine sink to the ground and pull Jace onto his lap as if Jace were still very small and could be easily held. He drew him close and rocked him, and he lowered his face and pressed it against Jace’s shoulder, and Clary thought for a moment that he might even have been crying, but when he lifted his head, Valentine’s eyes were dry. “My son,” he whispered. “My boy.” The terrible slowing of time stretched around Clary like a strangling rope, while Valentine held Jace and brushed his bloody hair back from his forehead. He held Jace while he died, and the light went out of his eyes, and then Valentine laid his adopted son’s body gently down on the ground, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the gaping, bloody wound there. “Ave—” he began, as if he meant to say the words over Jace, the Shadowhunter’s farewell, but his voice cracked, and he turned abruptly and walked back toward the altar. Clary couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. She could hear her own heart beating, hear the scrape of her breathing in her dry throat. From the corner of her eye she could see Valentine standing by the edge of the lake, blood streaming from the blade of Maellartach and dripping into the bowl of the Mortal Cup. He was chanting words she didn’t understand. She didn’t care to try to understand. It would all be over soon, and she was almost glad. She wondered if she had enough energy to drag herself over to where Jace lay, if she could lie down beside him and wait for it to be over. She stared at him, lying motionless on the churned, bloody sand. His eyes were closed, his face still; if it weren’t for the gash across his chest, she could have told herself he was asleep. But he wasn’t. He was a Shadowhunter; he had died in battle; he deserved the last benediction. Ave atque vale. Her lips shaped the words, though they fell from her mouth in silent puffs of air. Halfway through, she stopped, her breath catching. What should she say? Hail and farewell, Jace Wayland? That name was not truly his. He had never even really been named, she thought with agony, just given the name of a dead child because it had suited Valentine’s purposes at the time. And there was so much power in a name…. Her head whipped around, and she stared at the altar. The runes surrounding it had begun to glow. They were runes of summoning, runes of naming, and runes of binding. They were not unlike the runes that had kept Ithuriel imprisoned in the cellar beneath the Wayland manor. Now very much against her will, she thought of the way Jace had looked at her then, the blaze of faith in his eyes, his belief in her. He had always thought she was strong. He had showed it in everything he did, in every look and every touch. Simon had faith in her too, yet when he’d held her, it had been as if she were something fragile, something made of delicate glass. But Jace had held her with all the strength he had, never wondering if she could take it—he’d known she was as strong as he was. Valentine was dipping the bloody Sword over and over in the water of the lake now, chanting low and fast. The water of the lake was rippling, as if a giant hand were stroking fingers lightly across its surface. Clary closed her eyes. Remembering the way Jace had looked at her the night she’d freed Ithuriel, she couldn’t help but imagine the way he’d look at her now if he saw her trying to lie down to die on the sand beside him. He wouldn’t be touched, wouldn’t think it was a beautiful gesture. He’d be angry at her for giving up. He’d be so—disappointed. Clary lowered herself so that she was lying on the ground, heaving her dead legs behind her. Slowly she crawled across the sand, pushing herself along with her knees and bound hands. The glowing band around her wrists burned and stung. Her shirt tore as she dragged herself across the ground, and the sand scraped the bare skin of her stomach. She barely felt it. It was hard work, pulling herself along like this—sweat ran down her back, between her shoulder blades. When she finally reached the circle of runes, she was panting so loudly that she was terrified Valentine would hear her. “** Clary hand was in Jace’s and she was crushing it but none of them minded **“But he didn’t even turn around. He had the Mortal Cup in one hand and the Sword in the other. As she watched, he drew his right hand back, spoke several words that sounded like Greek, and threw the Cup. It shone like a falling star as it hurtled toward the water of the lake and vanished beneath the surface with a faint splash. The circle of runes was giving off a faint heat, like a partly banked fire. Clary had to twist and struggle to reach her hand around to the stele jammed into her belt. The pain in her wrists spiked as her fingers closed around the handle; she pulled it free with a muffled gasp of relief. She couldn’t separate her wrists, so she gripped the stele awkwardly in both hands. She pushed herself up with her elbows, staring down at the runes. She could feel the heat of them on her face; they had begun to shimmer like witchlight. Valentine had the Mortal Sword poised, ready to throw it; he was chanting the last words of the summoning spell. With a final burst of strength Clary drove the tip of the stele into the sand, not scraping aside the runes Valentine had drawn but tracing her own pattern over them, writing a new rune over the one that symbolized his name. It was such a small rune, she thought, such a small change—nothing like her immensely powerful Alliance rune, nothing like the Mark of Cain. But it was all she could do. Spent, Clary rolled onto her side as Valentine drew his arm back and let the Mortal Sword fly. Maellartach hurtled end over end, a black and silver blur that joined soundlessly with the black and silver lake. A great plume went up from the place where it splashed down: a flowering of platinum water. The plume rose higher and higher, a geyser of molten silver, like rain falling upward. There was a great crashing noise, the sound of shattering ice, a glacier breaking—and then the lake seemed to blow apart, silver water exploding upward like a reverse hailstorm. And rising with the hailstorm came the Angel. Clary was not sure what she’d expected—something like Ithuriel, but Ithuriel had been diminished by many years of captivity and torment. This was an angel in the full force of his glory. As he rose from the water, her eyes began to burn as if she were staring into the sun. Valentine’s hands had fallen to his sides. He was gazing upward with a rapt expression, a man watching his greatest dream become reality. “Raziel,” he breathed. The Angel continued to rise, as if the lake were sinking away, revealing a great column of marble at its center. First his head emerged from the water, streaming hair like chains of silver and gold. Then shoulders, white as stone, and then a bare torso—and Clary saw that the Angel was Marked all over with runes just as the Nephilim were, although Raziel’s runes were golden and alive, moving across his white skin like sparks flying from a fire. Somehow, at the same time, the Angel was both enormous and no bigger than a man: Clary’s eyes hurt trying to take all of him in, and yet he was all that she could see. As he rose, wings burst from his back and opened wide across the lake, and they were gold too, and feathered, and set into each feather was a single golden staring eye. It was beautiful, and also terrifying. Clary wanted to look away, but she wouldn’t. She would watch it all. She would watch it for Jace, because he couldn’t. It’s just like all those pictures, she thought. The Angel rising from the lake, the Sword in one hand and the Cup in the other. Both were streaming water, but Raziel was dry as a bone, his wings undampened. His feet rested, white and bare, on the surface of the lake, stirring its waters into small ripples of movement. His face, beautiful and inhuman, gazed down at Valentine. And then he spoke. His voice was like a cry and a shout and like music, all at once. It contained no words, yet was totally comprehensible. The force of his breath nearly knocked Valentine backward; he dug the heels of his boots into the sand, his head tilted back as if he were walking against a gale. Clary felt the wind of the Angel’s breath pass over her: It was hot like air escaping from a furnace, and smelled of strange spices. “It has been a thousand years since I was last summoned to this place,” Raziel said. “Jonathan Shadowhunter called on me then, and begged me to mix my blood with the blood of mortal men in a Cup and create a race of warriors who would rid this earth of demonkind. I did all that he asked and told him I would do no more. Why do you summon me now, Nephilim?”  Valentine’s voice was eager. “A thousand years have passed, Glorious One, but demonkind are still here.” What is that to me? A thousand years for an angel pass between one blink of an eye and another. “The Nephilim you created were a great race of men. For many years they valiantly battled to rid this plane of demon taint. But they have failed due to weakness and corruption in their ranks. I intend to return them to their former glory—” Glory? The Angel sounded faintly curious, as if the word were strange to him. Glory belongs to God alone. Valentine didn’t waver. “The Clave as the first Nephilim created it exists no more. They have allied themselves with Downworlders, the demon-tainted nonhumans who infest this world like fleas on the carcass of a rat. It is my intention to cleanse this world, to destroy every Downworlder along with every demon—” Demons do not possess souls. But as for the creatures you speak of, the Children of Moon, Night, Lilith, and Faerie, all are souled. It seems that your rules as to what does and does not constitute a human being are stricter than our own. Clary could have sworn the Angel’s voice had taken on a dry tone. Do you intend to challenge heaven like that other Morning Star whose name you bear, Shadowhunter? “Not to challenge heaven, no, Lord Raziel. To ally myself with heaven—” In a war of your making? We are heaven, Shadowhunter. We do not fight in your mundane battles. When Valentine spoke again, he sounded almost hurt. “Lord Raziel. Surely you would not have allowed such a thing as a ritual by which you might be summoned to exist if you did not intend to be summoned. We Nephilim are your children. We need your guidance.” Guidance? Now the Angel sounded amused. That hardly seems to be why you brought me here. You seek rather your own renown. “Renown?” Valentine echoed hoarsely. “I have given everything for this cause. My wife. My children. I have not withheld my sons. I have given everything I have for this—everything.” The Angel simply hovered, gazing down at Valentine with his weird, inhuman eyes. His wings moved in slow, undeliberate motions, like the passage of clouds across the sky. At last he said, God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son on an altar much like this one, to see who it was that Abraham loved more, Isaac or God. But no one asked you to sacrifice your son, Valentine.” Valentine glanced down at the altar at his feet, splashed with Jace’s blood, and then back up at the Angel. “If I must, I will compel this from you,” he said. “But I would rather have your willing cooperation.”  “When Jonathan Shadowhunter summoned me, said the Angel, I gave him my assistance because I could see that his dream of a world free of demons was a true one. He imagined a heaven on this earth. But you dream only of your own glory, and you do not love heaven. My brother Ithuriel can attest to that.”  Valentine blanched. “But—” Did you think that I would not know? The Angel smiled. It was the most terrible smile Clary had ever seen.” It is true that the master of the circle you have drawn can compel from me a single action. But you are not that master.”  Valentine stared. “My Lord Raziel—there is no one else—”  “But there is,” said the Angel. “There is your daughter.” Valentine whirled. Clary, lying half-conscious in the sand, her wrists and arms a screaming agony, stared defiantly back. For a moment their eyes met—and he looked at her, really looked at her, and she realized it was the first time her father had ever looked her in the face and seen her. The first and only time. “Clarissa,” he said. “What have you done?” Clary stretched out her hand, and with her finger she wrote in the sand at his feet. She didn’t draw runes. She drew words—the words he had said to her the first time he’d seen what she could do, when she’d drawn the rune that had destroyed his ship. MENE MENE TEKEL UPHARSIN. His eyes widened, just as Jace’s eyes had widened before he’d died. Valentine had gone bone white. He turned slowly to face the Angel, raising his hands in a gesture of supplication. “My Lord Raziel—” The Angel opened his mouth and spat. Or at least that was how it seemed to Clary—that the Angel spat, and that what came from his mouth was a shooting spark of white fire, like a burning arrow. The arrow flew straight and true across the water and buried itself in Valentine’s chest. Or maybe “buried” wasn’t the word—it tore through him, like a rock through thin paper, leaving a smoking hole the size of a fist. For a moment Clary, staring up, could look through her father’s chest and see the lake and the fiery glow of the Angel beyond.”** “Valentine succeded but he died doing that” many mixed emotion were going to all the people in the room happiness, satisfaction **“ The moment passed. Like a felled tree, Valentine crashed to the ground and lay still—his mouth open in a silent cry, his blind eyes fixed forever in a last look of incredulous betrayal. That was the justice of heaven. I trust that you are not dismayed. Clary looked up. The Angel hovered over her, like a tower of white flame, blotting out the sky. His hands were empty; the Mortal Cup and Maellartach lay by the shore of the lake, lapped by the subsiding waves. You can compel me to one action, Clarissa Morgenstern. What is it that you want? Clary opened her mouth. No sound came out. Ah, yes, the Angel said, and there was gentleness in his voice now. The rune. The many eyes in his wings blinked. Something brushed over her. It was soft, softer than silk or any other cloth, softer than a whisper or the brush of a feather. It was what she imagined clouds might feel like if they had a texture. A faint scent came with the touch—a pleasant scent, heady and sweet. The pain vanished from her wrists. No longer bound together, her hands fell to her sides. The stinging at the back of her neck was gone too, and the heaviness from her legs. She struggled to her knees. More than anything, she wanted to crawl across the bloody sand toward the place where Jace’s body lay, crawl to him and lie down beside him and put her arms around him, even though he was gone. But the Angel’s voice compelled her; she remained where she was, staring up into his brilliant golden light. The battle on Brocelind Plain is ending. Morgenstern’s hold over his demons vanished with his death. Already many are fleeing; the rest will soon be destroyed. There are Nephilim riding to the shores of this lake at this very moment. If you have a request, Shadowhunter, speak it now. The Angel paused. And remember that I am not a genie. Choose your desire wisely. Clary hesitated—only for a moment, but the moment stretched out as long as any moment ever had. She could ask for anything, she thought dizzily, anything—an end to pain or world hunger or disease, or for peace on earth. But then again, perhaps these things weren’t in the power of angels to grant, or they would already have been granted. And perhaps people were supposed to find these things for themselves. It didn’t matter, anyway. There was only one thing she could ask for, in the end, only one real choice. She raised her eyes to the Angel’s. “Jace,” she said. The Angel’s expression didn’t change. She had no idea whether Raziel thought her request a good one or a bad one, or whether—she thought with a sudden burst of panic—he intended to grant it at all. Close your eyes, Clarissa Morgenstern, the Angel said. Clary shut her eyes. You didn’t say no to an angel, no matter what it had in mind.”** That had many of the occupants of the room laughing **“ Her heart pounding, she sat floating in the darkness behind her eyelids, resolutely trying not to think of Jace. But his face appeared against the blank screen of her closed eyelids anyway—not smiling at her but looking sidelong, and she could see the scar at his temple, the uneven curl at the corner of his mouth, and the silver line on his throat where Simon had bitten him—all the marks and flaws and imperfections that made up the person she loved most in the world. Jace. A bright light lit her vision to scarlet, and she fell back against the sand, wondering if she was going to pass out; or maybe she was dying—but she didn’t want to die, not now that she could see Jace’s face so clearly in front of her. She could almost hear his voice, too, saying her name, the way he’d whispered it at Renwick’s, over and over again. Clary. Clary. Clary. “Clary,” Jace said. “Open your eyes.” She did. She was lying on the sand, in her torn, wet, and bloodied clothes. That was the same. What was not the same was that the Angel was gone, and with him the blinding white light that had lit the darkness to day. She was gazing up at the night sky, white stars like mirrors shining in the blackness, and leaning over her, the light in his eyes more brilliant than any of the stars, was Jace. Her eyes drank him in, every part of him, from his tangled hair to his bloodstained, grimy face to his eyes shining through the layers of dirt; from the bruises visible through his torn sleeves to the gaping, blood-soaked tear down the front of his shirt, through which his bare skin showed—and there was no mark, no gash, to indicate where the Sword had gone in. She could see the pulse beating in his throat, and almost threw her arms around him at the sight because it meant his heart was beating and that meant— “You’re alive,” she whispered. “Really alive.” With a slow wonderment he reached to touch her face. “I was in the dark,” he said softly. “There was nothing there but shadows, and I was a shadow, and I knew that I was dead, and that it was over, all of it. And then I heard your voice. I heard you say my name, and it brought me back.” “Not me.” Clary’s throat tightened. “The Angel brought you back.” “Because you asked him to.” Silently he traced the outline of her face with his fingers, as if reassuring himself that she was real. “You could have had anything else in the world, and you asked for me.” She smiled up at him. Filthy as he was, covered in blood and dirt, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “But I don’t want anything else in the world.” At that, the light in his eyes, already bright, went to such a blaze that she could hardly bear to look at him. She thought of the Angel, and how he had burned like a thousand torches, and that Jace had in him some of that same incandescent blood, and how that burning shone through him now, through his eyes, like light through the cracks in a door. I love you, Clary wanted to say. And, I would do it again. I would always ask for you. But those weren’t the words she said. “You’re not my brother,” she told him, a little breathlessly, as if, having realized she hadn’t yet said them, she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth fast enough. “You know that, right?” Very slightly, through the grime and blood, Jace grinned. “Yes,” he said. “I know that.”** “wait, they didn’t know that before?” “it seems like it” almost everyone was in shock, for the death of Valentine , Sebastian Max  and Jace’s but they were also happy because they knew that is was going to be okay.

When the angel appeared again they were expecting him, they were waiting for him “do you wish to read more about your life in the other dimension?” “yes” it was the answer on everyone lips “well, what do you wish to know?” “what was my brother first kiss like?” Isabelle freaked her parents and both her brothers out with this request but they didn’t have time to stop the angel before he disappeared again whit another page at his place.


	2. Read This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to tell you all something

I want to change how this story is going; the next chqpter will be the Malec kiss ( i will publish tomorrow. Finger crossed) but after that they will be reading the books in order from city of bones to city of heavenly fire.

 

I'm enjoing doing it like I am right now but mi mind is exploding trying to come up to what they will be reafing next.

 

I hope you are not disappointed.

Peace out. The writer


	3. Kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first malec kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are no spoiler, everyone knows they are canon

Isabelle was the most excited about the piece of paper on wich supposely was written the first kisss of her big brother. -"we won't read that Izzy"- Alec voice was firm -"yes we will. If you want you can stop listening but I will read it like it or not, now can i read?"- seeing as no one had something to say she began

 **Standing in the stairwell of Magnus’ home, Alec stared at the name written under the buzzer on the wall. BANE. The name didn’t really seem to suit Magnus, he thought, not now that he knew him. If you could really be said to know someone when you’d attended one of their parties, once, and then they’d saved your life later but hadn’t really hung around to be thanked.** -"wow, definetly different from this dimension"- Isabelle wanted to murder Jace because she want to arrive at the kiss the faster possible -"I'm glad it is, if he saved his life it means Alec was in danger"- the black haired shadowhunter shushed everyone in the room and got on with the reading.

 **But the name Magnus Bane made him think of a towering sort of figure, with huge shoulders and formal purple warlock’s robes, calling down fire and lightning. Not Magnus himself, who was more of a cross between a panther and a demented elf.** -"why thank you"- sarcasm was heard in Magnus voice making everyone laught even Robert and Maryse who had be silent for a very long time.

**Alec took a deep breath and let it out. Well, he’d come this far; he might as well go on. The bare lightbulb hanging overhead cast sweeping shadows as he reached forward and pressed the buzzer.**

**A moment later a voice echoed through the stairwell. “WHO CALLS UPON THE HIGH WARLOCK?”**

**“Er,” Alec said. “It’s me. I mean, Alec. Alec Lightwood.”** -"can you be more akward Alec?"- -"I don't know Izzy can I?"- -"you are insufferable"-

**There was a sort of silence, as if even the hallway itself were surprised. Then a ping, and the second door opened, letting him out onto the stairwell. He headed up the rickety stairs into the darkness, which smelled like pizza and dust. The second floor landing was bright, the door at the far end open. Magnus Bane was leaning in the entryway.**

**Compared to the first time Alec has seen him, he looked fairly normal. His black hair still stood up in spikes, and he looked sleepy; his face, even with its cat’s eyes, very young. He wore a black t-shirt with the words ONE MILLION DOLLARS picked out across the chest in sequins, and jeans that hung low on his hips, low enough that Alec looked away, down at his own shoes. Which were boring.**

**“Alexander Lightwood,” said Magnus. He had just the faintest trace of an accent, something Alec couldn’t put his finger on, a lilt to his vowels. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”**

**Alec looked past Magnus. “Do you have — company?”**

**Magnus crossed his arms, which did good things for his biceps, and leaned against the side of the door. “Why do you want to know?”**

**“I was hoping I could come in and talk to you.”**

**“Hmmm.” Magnus’ eyes raked him up and down. They really did shine in the dark, like a cat’s. “Well, all right then.” He turned abruptly away and disappeared into the apartment; after a startled moment, Alec followed.**

**The loft looked different without a hundred churning bodies in it. It was — well, not ordinary, but the sort of space someone might live in. Like most lofts, it had a big central room split into “rooms” by groupings of furniture. There was a square collection of sofas and tables off to the right, which Magnus gestured Alec toward. Alec sat down on a gold velvet sofa with elegant wooden curlicues on the arms.**

**“Would you like some tea?” Magnus asked. He wasn’t sitting in a chair, but had sprawled himself on a tufted ottoman, his long legs stretched out in front of him.**

**Alec nodded. He felt incapable of saying anything. Anything interesting or intelligent, that was. It was always Jace who said the interesting, intelligent things. He was Jace’s parabatai and that was all the glory he needed or wanted: like being the dark star to someone else’s supernova. But this was somewhere Jace couldn’t go with him, something Jace couldn’t help him with. “Sure.”** -"you can always ask me help with boys"- Jace tryed to lift his parabatai spirit -" really?"- Alec didn't seem so convinced -"what else brothers are for?"

**His right hand felt suddenly hot. He looked down, and realized he was holding a waxed paper cup from Joe, the Art of Coffee. It smelled like chai. He jumped, and only barely escaped spilling on himself. “By the Angel —”**

**“I LOVE that expression,” said Magnus. “It’s so quaint.”**

**Alec stared at him. “Did you steal this tea?”**

**Magnus ignored the question. “So,” he said. “Why are you here?”**

**Alec took a gulp of the stolen tea. “I wanted to thank you,” he said, when he came up for air. “For saving my life.”**

**Magnus leaned back on his hands. His t-shirt rode up over his flat stomach, and this time Alec had nowhere else to look. “You wanted to thank me.”**

**“You saved my life,” Alec said, again. “But I was delirious, and I don’t think I really thanked you. I know you didn’t have to do it. So thank you.”**

**Magnus’ eyebrows had disappeared up into his hairline. “You’re . . .welcome?”**

**Alec set his tea down. “Maybe I should go.”**

**Magnus sat up. “After you came so far? All the way to Brooklyn? Just to thank me?” He was grinning. “Now that would be a wasted effort.” He reached out and put his hand to Alec’s cheek, his thumb brushing along the cheekbone. His touch felt like fire, training tendrils of sparks in its wake. Alec sat frozen in surprise — surprise at the gesture, and surprise at the effect it was having on him. Magnus’ eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hand. “Huh,” he said to himself.**

**“What?” Alec was suddenly very worried that he’d done something wrong. “What is it?”**

**“You’re just . . .” A shadow moved behind Magnus; with fluid agility, the warlock twisted around and picked up a small gray and white tabby cat from the floor. The cat curled into the crook of his arm and looked at Alec with suspicion. Now two pairs of gold-green eyes were trained on him darkly. “Not what I expected.”**

**“From a Shadowhunter?”**

**“From a Lightwood.”**

**“I didn’t realize you knew my family that well.”**

**“I’ve known your family for hundreds of years.” Magnus’ eyes searched his face. “Now your sister, she’s a Lightwood. You—’**

**“She said you liked me.”**

**“What?”**

**“Izzy. My sister. She told me you liked me. _Liked_  me, liked me.” **-"are you suddenly an 12 years old boy in middle school?"-

**“ _Liked_  you, liked you?” Magnus buried his grin in the cat’s fur. “Sorry. Are we twelve now? I don’t recall saying anything to Isabelle . . .”**

**“Jace said it too.” Alec was blunt; it was the only way he knew how to be. “That you liked me. That when he buzzed up here, you thought he was me and you were disappointed that it was him. That never happens.”**

**“Doesn’t it? Well, it should.”**

**Alec was startled. “No — I mean Jace, he’s . . . Jace.”**

**“He’s trouble,” said Magnus. “But you are totally without guile. Which in a Lightwood, is a conundrum. You’ve always been a plotting sort of family, like low-rent Borgias. But there isn’t a lie in your face. I get the feeling everything you say is straightforward.”** -"low-rent Borgias? Seriusly?"- Every Lightwood present was watching Magnus -"what? Something on my face?"- 

 **Alec leaned forward. “Do you want to go out with me?”** -"I wasn't expecting that"- Magnus said -"in this universe I had to crash your wedding to have you asking me out and in the other one you just go to my house? It's not fair."- 

**Magnus blinked. “See, that’s what I mean. Straightforward.”**

**Alec chewed his lip and said nothing.**

**“Why do you want to go out with me?” Magnus inquired. He was rubbing Chairman Meow’s head, his long fingers folding the cat’s ears down. “Not that I’m not highly desirable, but the way you asked, it seemed as if you were having some sort of fit —”**

**“I just do,” Alec said. “And I thought you liked me, so you’d say yes, and I could try — I mean, we could try —” He put his face in his hands. “Maybe this was a mistake.”**

**Magnus’ voice was gentle. “Does anyone know you’re gay?”**

**Alec’s head jerked up; he found he was breathing a little hard, as if he’d run a race. But what could he do, deny it? When he’d come here to do exactly the opposite? “Clary,” he said, hoarsely. “Which is . . . Which was an accident. And Izzy, but she’d never say anything.”**

**“Not your parents. Not Jace?”**

**Alec thought about Jace knowing, and pushed the thought away, hard and fast. “No. No, and I don’t want them to know, especially Jace.”**

**“I think you could tell him.” Magnus rubbed Chairman Meow under the chin. “He went to pieces like a jigsaw puzzle when he thought you were going to die. He cares —”**

**“I’d rather not.” Alec was still breathing quickly. He rubbed at the knees of his jeans with his fists. “I’ve never had a date,” he said in a low voice. “Never kissed anyone. Not ever. Izzy said you liked me and I thought —”**

**“I’m not unsympathetic. But do you _like_  me? Because this being gay business doesn’t mean you can just throw yourself at any guy and it’ll be fine because he’s not a girl. There are still people you like and people you don’t.”**

**Alec thought of his bedroom back at the Institute, of being in a delirium of pain and poison when Magnus had come in. He had barely recognized him. He was fairly sure he’d been screaming for his parents, for Jace, for Izzy, but his voice would only come out on a whisper. He remembered Magnus’ hands on him, his fingers cool and gentle. He remembered the death-grip he’d kept on Magnus’ wrist, for hours and hours, even after the pain had passed and he knew he would be all right. He remembered watching Magnus’ face in the light of the rising sun, the gold of sunrise sparking gold out of his eyes, and thinking how oddly beautiful he was, with his cat’s gaze and grace.** -"wow, that was...wow"- Clary was speechless much like Magnus who was staring at Alec like he was a beautiful jewelry he wanted.

**“Yes,” Alec said. “I like you.”**

**He met Magnus’ gaze squarely. The warlock was looking at him with a sort of admixture of curiosity and affection and puzzlement. “It’s so odd,” Magnus said. “Genetics. Your eyes, that color —” He stopped and shook his head.**

**“The Lightwoods you knew didn’t have blue eyes?”**

**“Green-eyed** monsters,” -" hey"- -"what you are nothing like the Lightwoods I knew"-  **said Magnus, and grinned. He deposited Chairman Meow on the ground, and the cat moved over to Alec, and rubbed against his leg. “The Chairman likes you.”**

**“Is that good?”**

**“I never date anyone my cat doesn’t like,”**   Jace was on the floor laughing, while Clary and Isabelle was against Clary and Simon was trying to calm Maia while also smiling like a mad man  **Magnus** **said easily, and stood up. “So let’s say Friday night?”**

**A great wave of relief came over Alec. “Really? You want to go out with me?”**

**Magnus shook his head. “You have to stop playing hard to get, Alexander. It makes things difficult.” He grinned. He had a grin like Jace’s — not that they looked anything alike, but the sort of grin that lit up his whole face. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”** -"what? You are leaving? But the kiss?"- Isabelle sad face made all the others a bit sad too.

**Alec drifted after Magnus toward the front door, feeling as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders, one he hadn’t even known he was carrying. Of course he’d have to come up with an excuse for where he was going Friday night, something Jace wouldn’t want to participate in, something he’d need to do alone. Or he could pretend to be sick and sneak out. He was so lost in thought he almost banged into the front door, which Magnus was leaning against, looking at him through eyes narrowed to crescents.**

**“What is it?” Alec said.**

**“Never kissed anyone?” Magnus said. “No one at all?”**

**“No,” said Alec, hoping this didn’t disqualify him from being datable. “Not a real kiss —”**

**“Come here.” Magnus took him by the elbows and pulled him close. For a moment Alec was entirely disoriented by the feeling of being so close to someone else, to the kind of person he’d wanted to be close to for so long. Magnus was long and lean but not skinny; his body was hard, his arms lightly muscled but strong; he was an inch or so taller than Alec, which hardly ever happened, and they fit together perfectly. Magnus’ finger was under his chin, tilting his face up, and then they were kissing. Alec heard a small hitching gasp come from his own throat and then their mouths were pressed together with a sort of controlled urgency. Magnus, Alec thought dazedly, really knew what he was doing. His lips were soft, and he parted Alec’s expertly, exploring his mouth: a symphony of lips, teeth, tongue, every movement waking up a nerve ending Alec had never known he had.**

**He found Magnus’ waist with his fingers, touching the strip of bare skin he’d been trying to avoid looking at before, and slid his hands up under Magnus’ shirt. Magnus jerked with surprise, then relaxed, his hands running down Alec’s arms, over his chest, his waist, finding the belt loops on Alec’s jeans and using them to pull him closer. His mouth left Alec’s and Alec felt the hot pressure of his lips on his throat, where the skin was so sensitive that it seemed directly connected to the bones in his legs, which were about to give out. Just before he slid to the floor, Magnus let him go. His eyes were shining and so was his mouth.** Isabelle was shocked -"you wanted a kiss there, happy?"- Alec asked his sister -"that wasn't a simple kiss, that was a i-really-want-to-sleeping-with-you-but-not-the-kind-of-sleep-you-do-alone-in-your-bed "- Simon voice snapped Isabella from her shocked state and she began reading again

**“Now you’ve been kissed,” he said, reached behind him, and yanked the door open. “See you Friday?”**

**Alec cleared his throat. He felt dizzy, but he also felt alive — blood rushing through his veins like traffic at top speed, everything seemingly almost too brightly colored. As he stepped through the door, he turned and looked at Magnus, who was watching him bemusedly. He reached forward and took hold of the front of Magnus’ t-shirt and dragged the warlock toward him. Magnus stumbled against him, and Alec kissed him, hard and fast and messy and unpracticed, but with everything he had. He pulled Magnus against him, his own hand between them, and felt Magnus’ heart stutter in his chest.** -"are you going to move things to the bed now or are we safe from reading about that"- Jace said jocking

**He broke off the kiss, and drew back.**

**“Friday,” he said, and let Magnus go. He backed away, down the landing, Magnus looking after him. The warlock crossed his arms over his shirt — wrinkled where Alec had grabbed it — and shook his head, grinning.**

**“Lightwoods,” Magnus said. “They always have to have the last word.”**

**He shut the door behind him, and Alec ran down the steps, taking them two at a time, his blood still singing in his ears like music.**

The angel come againg in the room this time with six books in his hands and when he talked all of the glasses in the room shattered (supernatural, real language of the angels blah blah blah) -"I came here to show you how your life is in an different dimens and that was what I was doing but I realized that doing it like I am is confusing yuo all so I decided to made you began reading from the night Clary first saw you in the Pandemonium club"- and then he had flew away -"always very clear"- Raphael mused only to be silenced by Simon who had in his hand the first of the sixth books -"we might aswell begin"


	4. Pandemonium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They read the first chapter of City of bones

Simon began reading after silence had fallen in the room

**Part One**   
**Dark Descent**   
  
**I** **sung of Chaos and eternal Night,**   
**Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down**   
**The dark descent, and up to reascend…**   
**-John Milton,Paradise Lost**

"did you really had to read that?" Jace asked the vampire bored "yes I did" the other sassed him "would you like to read? so you can chose what to read?" "I want to read? can I?" the redheaded shadowhunters asked her best frind "sure" he said giving her the book  
 **1** **Pandemonium** "I think this is when I saw you for the first time.  It feels like a lifetime ago" "It was like only months ago" "I know that Alec"   
  
 **"You've got to be kidding me," the bouncer said, folding his**  
 **arms across his massive chest. He stared down at the boy in the red zip-up jacket and shook his shaved**  
 **head. "You can't bring that thing in here."**  
 **The fifty or so teenagers in line outside the Pandemonium Club leaned forward to eavesdrop. It was a**  
 **long wait to get into the all-ages club, especially on a Sunday, and not much generally happened in line.**  
 **The bouncers were fierce and would come down instantly on anyone who looked like they were going to**  
 **start trouble. Fifteen-year-old Clary Fray, standing in line with her best friend, Simon, leaned forward**  
 **along with everyone else, hoping for some excitement.**

"I'm only fifteen in the other dimensioni? How am i able to survive there?"  Clary started to worry about her other self "I don't know, maybe it we go on reading we will find out. Don't you think?" The black haired archer snapped at her.

  
**"Aw, come on." The kid hoisted the thing up over his head. It looked like a wooden beam, pointed at one end. "It's part of my costume."**   
**The bouncer raised an eyebrow. "Which is what?"**   
**The boy grinned. He was normal-enough-looking, Clary thought, for Pandemonium. He had electric blue**   
**dyed hair that stuck up around his head like the tendrils of a startled octopus, but no elaborate facial**   
**tattoos or big metal bars through his ears or lips. "I'm a vampire hunter." He pushed down on the wooden**   
**thing. It bent as easily as a blade of grass bending sideways. "It's fake. Foam rubber. See?"**   
**The boy's wide eyes were way too bright a green, Clary noticed: the color of antifreeze, spring grass.**

"he is a demon"  Isabelle declared  "how can you tell so fast?" Simon ask  "It's a gift"

  
**Colored contact lenses, probably. The bouncer shrugged, abruptly bored. "Whatever. Go on in."**   
**The boy slid past him, quick as an eel. Clary liked the lilt to his shoulders, the way he tossed his hair as**   
**he went. There was a word for him that her mother would have used-insouciant.**   
**"You thought he was cute," said Simon, sounding resigned. "Didn't you?"**   
**Clary dug her elbow into his ribs, but didn't answer.**

"you thought a demon was cute?" Jace exclaimed "I didn't know he was a demon and that isn't even me, it's a different me" Clary defended herself against the shadowhunter. "Poor Simon, it's evident that He has a thing for you in the other dimension" Isabelle said to noboby in particular "maybe it Will end better for him there" Magnus replied to her "I'm right here"   
  
 **Inside, the club was full of dry-ice smoke. Colored lights played over the dance floor, turning it into a**  
 **multicolored fairyland of blues and acid greens, hot pinks and golds.**  
 **The boy in the red jacket stroked the long razor-sharp blade in his hands, an idle smile playing over his**  
 **lips. It had been so easy-a little bit of a glamour on the blade, to make it look harmless. Another glamour**  
 **on his eyes, and the moment the bouncer had looked straight at him, he was in. Of course, he could**  
 **probably have gotten by without all that trouble, but it was part of the fun-fooling the mundies, doing it all** **out in the open right in front of them, getting off on the blank looks on their sheeplike faces.**

"See? Demon, I was right" "no need to brag about it little sister" 

  
 **Not that the humans didn't have their uses.** "as a former human i resent that"

**The boy's green eyes scanned the dance floor, where slender** **limbs clad in scraps of silk and black leather appeared and disappeared inside the revolving columns of** **smoke as the mundies danced. Girls tossed their long hair, boys swung their leather-clad hips, and bare** **skin glittered with sweat. Vitality justpoured off them, waves of energy that filled him with a drunken** **dizziness. His lip curled. They didn't know how lucky they were. They didn't know what it was like to** **eke out life in a dead world, where the sun hung limp in the sky like a burned cinder. Their lives burned** **as brightly as candle flames-and were as easy to snuff out.**

  
**His hand tightened on the blade he carried, and he had begun to step out onto the dance floor when a**   
**girl broke away from the mass of dancers and began walking toward him. He stared at her. She was**   
**beautiful, for a human-long hair nearly the precise color of black ink, charcoaled eyes. Floor-length white** **gown, the kind women used to wear when this world was younger. Lace sleeves belled out around her** **slim arms. Around her neck was a thick silver chain, on which hung a dark red pendant the size of a**   
**baby's fist. He only had to narrow his eyes to know that it was real-real and precious.**

"That's Isabelle **,**  I can bet on it" 

**His mouth started** **to water as she neared him. Vital energy pulsed from her like blood from an open wound. She smiled,** **passing him, beckoning with her eyes. He turned to follow her, tasting the phantom sizzle of her death on** **his lips.**

"This is disgusting, I never want to see what's in the mind of a demon again"

  
**It was always easy. He could already feel the power of her evaporating life coursing through his veins**   
**like fire. Humans were so stupid. They had something so precious, and they barely safeguarded it at all. They threw away their lives for money, for packets of powder, for a stranger's charming smile. The girl** **was a pale ghost retreating through the colored smoke. She reached the wall and turned, bunching her** **skirt up in her hands, lifting it as she grinned at him. Under the skirt, she was wearing thigh-high boots.**

  
**He sauntered up to her, his skin prickling with her nearness. Up close she wasn't so perfect: He could**   
**see the mascara smudged under her eyes, the sweat sticking her hair to her neck. He could smell her**   
**mortality, the sweet rot of corruption.Got you, he thought.**   
**A cool smile curled her lips. She moved to the side, and he could see that she was leaning against a**   
**closed door, no admittance-storage was scrawled across it in red paint. She reached behind her for the**   
**knob, turned it, slid inside. He caught a glimpse of stacked boxes, tangled wiring. A storage room. He**   
**glanced behind him-no one was looking. So much the better if she wanted privacy.**   
**He slipped into the room after her, unaware that he was being followed.**

"You are hunting, but where are Jace and Alec?" The girl mother started to worry "I'm dure they are close Maryse. No need to worry" Robert rushed to calm down his wife.  
  
 **"So," Simon said, "pretty good music, eh?"**  
 **Clary didn't reply. They were dancing, or what passed for it- a lot of swaying back and forth with**  
 **occasional lunges toward the floor as if one of them had dropped a contact lens-in a space between a**  
 **group of teenage boys in metallic corsets, and a young Asian couple who were making out passionately,**  
 **their colored hair extensions tangled together like vines. A boy with a lip piercing and a teddy bear**  
 **backpack was handing out free tablets of herbal ecstasy, his parachute pants flapping in the breeze from** **the wind machine.**

 **"** nice place" Jace sarcastically said.

**Clary wasn't paying much attention to their immediate surroundings-her eyes were on** **the blue-haired boy who'd talked his way into the club. He was prowling through the crowd as if he were**   
**looking for something. There was something about the way he moved that reminded her of something…**   
**"I, for one," Simon went on, "am enjoying myself immensely."**   
**This seemed unlikely. Simon, as always, stuck out at the club like a sore thumb, in jeans and an old**   
**T-shirt that said made in Brooklyn across the front. His freshly scrubbed hair was dark brown instead of**   
**green or pink, and his glasses perched crookedly on the end of his nose. He looked less as if he were**   
**contemplating the powers of darkness and more as if he were on his way to chess club.**

"Some things never change, eh?" "I want to see how you are in the other dimension just to repay you with a lot of insults" Simon tretened Jace

  
**"Mmm-hmm." Clary knew perfectly well that he came to Pandemonium with her only because she liked**   
**it, that he thought it was boring. She wasn't even sure why it was that she liked it- the clothes, the music**   
**made it like a dream, someone else's life, not her boring real life at all. But she was always too shy to talk** **to anyone but Simon.**

  
**The blue-haired boy was making his way off the dance floor. He looked a little lost, as if he hadn't found**   
**whom he was looking for. Clary wondered what would happen if she went up and introduced herself,**   
**offered to show him around. Maybe he'd just stare at her. Or maybe he was shy too. Maybe he'd be**   
**grateful and pleased, and try not to show it, the way boys did- but she'd know. Maybe-** **The blue-haired boy straightened up suddenly, snapping to attention, like a hunting dog on point. Clary**   
**followed the line of his gaze, and saw the girl in the white dress.**

"I'm very hard to miss" "of course. Anybody with a body like yours is 'hard to miss' " Maia shut down Isabelle

  
**Oh, well,** **Clary thought, trying not to feel like a deflated party balloon.I guess that's that. The girl was gorgeous, the kind of girl Clary would have liked to draw-tall and ribbon-slim, with a long spill of black hair. Even** **at this distance Clary could see the red pendant around her throat. It pulsed under the lights of the dance** **floor like a separate, disembodied heart.**

"aw thanks clary, you are very pretty too" Izzy smiled to the redhead "she is beautiful, not pretty" Jace touched his almost-girlfriend hand.

  
**"I feel," Simon went on, "that this evening DJ Bat is doing a singularly exceptional job. Don't you agree?"**   
**Clary rolled her eyes and didn't answer; Simon hated trance music. Her attention was on the girl in the**   
**white dress. Through the darkness, smoke, and artificial fog, her pale dress shone out like a beacon. No**   
**wonder the blue-haired boy was following her as if he were under a spell, too distracted to notice**   
**anything else around him-even the two dark shapes hard on his heels, weaving after him through the**   
**crowd.**

  
**Clary slowed her dancing and stared. She could just make out that the shapes were boys, tall and**   
**wearing black clothes. She couldn't have said how she knew that they were following the other boy, but**   
**she did. She could see it in the way they paced him, their careful watchfulness, the slinking grace of their** **movements.**

**"** see mom, you don't have to worry Alec and Jace are there" "did  you just refer to yourself in third pearson?" "Yes, i just did. Something to say Alec?" "I don't have words"

**A small flower of apprehension began to open inside her chest.**   
**"Meanwhile," Simon added, "I wanted to tell you that lately I've been cross-dressing. Also, I'm sleeping**   
**with your mom. I thought you should know."**

Pretty much everybody was laughing at that point "Are that desperate for her attension?"

  
**The girl had reached the wall, and was opening a door marked no admittance. She beckoned the**   
**blue-haired boy after her, and they slipped through the door. It wasn't anything Clary hadn't seen before,**   
**a couple sneaking off to the dark corners of the club to make out-but that made it even weirder that they**   
**were being followed.**   
**She raised herself up on tiptoe, trying to see over the crowd. The two guys had stopped at the door and**   
**seemed to be conferring with each other. One of them was blond, the other dark-haired. The blond one**   
**reached into his jacket and drew out something long and sharp that flashed under the strobing lights. A**   
**knife. "Simon!" Clary shouted, and seized his arm.**   
**"What?" Simon looked alarmed. "I'm not really sleeping with your mom, you know. I was just trying to**   
**get your attention. Not that your mom isn't a very attractive woman, for her age."**

"You never chase to amaze me" Isabelle said to Simon with a smile on her lips.

  
**"Do you see those guys?" She pointed wildly, almost hitting a curvy black girl who was dancing nearby.**   
**The girl shot her an evil look. "Sorry-sorry!" Clary turned back to Simon. "Do you see those two guys**   
**over there? By that door?"**   
**Simon squinted, then shrugged. "I don't see anything."**   
**"There are two of them. They were following the guy with the blue hair-"**   
**"The one you thought was cute?"**   
**"Yes, but that's not the point. The blond one pulled a knife."**   
**"Are yousure?" Simon stared harder, shaking his head. "I still don't see anyone."**   
**"I'm sure."**   
**Suddenly all business, Simon squared his shoulders. "I'll get one of the security guards. You stay here."**   
**He strode away, pushing through the crowd. Clary turned just in time to see the blond boy slip through the no admittance door, his friend right on his**   
**heels. She looked around; Simon was still trying to shove his way across the dance floor, but he wasn't**   
**making much progress. Even if she yelled now, no one would hear her, and by the time Simon got back,**   
**something terrible mightalready have happened. Biting hard on her lower lip, Clary started to wriggle**   
**through the crowd.**   
  
**"What's your name?"**   
**She turned and smiled. What faint light there was in the storage room spilled down through high barred**   
**windows smeared with dirt. Piles of electrical cables, along with broken bits of mirrored disco balls and**   
**discarded paint cans littered the floor.**

"And back with the demon. I'm tired of this"

  
**"Isabelle."**   
**"That's a nice name." He walked toward her, stepping carefully among the wires in case any of them**   
**were live. In the faint light she looked half-transparent, bleached of color, wrapped in white like an angel.**   
**It would be a pleasure to make her fall…"I haven't seen you here before."**   
**"You're asking me if I come here often?" She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. There was**   
**some sort of bracelet around her wrist, just under the cuff of her dress-then, as he neared her, he saw**   
**that it wasn't a bracelet at all but a pattern inked into her skin, a matrix of swirling lines.**

"Runes, they are  called runes"

  
**He froze. "You-"**   
**He didn't finish. She moved with lightning swiftness, striking out at him with her open hand, a blow to his**   
**chest that would have sent him down gasping if he'd been a human being. He staggered back, and now**   
**there was something in her hand, a coiling whip that glinted gold as she brought it down, curling around**   
**his ankles, jerking him off his feet. He hit the ground, writhing, the hated metal biting deep into his skin.**   
**She laughed, standing over him, and dizzily he thought that he should haveknown. No human girl would**   
**wear a dress like the one Isabelle wore. She'd worn it to cover her skin-all of her skin.**   
**Isabelle yanked hard on the whip, securing it. Her smile glittered like poisonous water. "He's all yours,**   
**boys."**   
**A low laugh sounded behind him, and now there were hands on him, hauling him upright, throwing him**   
**against one of the concrete pillars. He could feel the damp stone under his back. His hands were pulled**   
**behind him, his wrists bound with wire. As he struggled, someone walked around the side of the pillar**   
**into his view: a boy, as young as Isabelle and just as pretty.**

**His tawny eyes glittered like chips of amber.**   
**"So," the boy said. "Are there any more with you?"**   
**The blue-haired boy could feel blood welling up under the too-tight metal, making his wrists slippery.**   
**"Any other what?"**   
**"Come on now." The tawny-eyed boy held up his hands, and his dark sleeves slipped down, showing**   
**the runes inked all over his wrists, the backs of his hands, his palms. "You know what I am."**   
**Far back inside his skull, the shackled boy's second set of teeth began to grind. "Shadowhunter,"**   
**he hissed.**   
**The other boy grinned all over his face. "Got you," he said.**   
  
**Clary pushed the door to the storage room open, and stepped inside. For a moment she thought it was**   
**deserted. The only windows were high up and barred; faint street noise came through them, the sound of** **honking cars and squealing brakes. The room smelled like old paint, and a heavy layer of dust covered** **the floor, marked by smeared shoe prints.**

  
**There's no one in here,** **she realized, looking around in bewilderment. It was cold in the room, despite the August heat outside.** **Her back was icy with sweat. She took a step forward, tangling her feet in electrical wires. She bent** **down to free her sneaker from the cables-and heard voices. A girl's laugh, a boy answering sharply.** **When she straightened up, she saw them.**   
**It was as if they had sprung into existence between one blink of her eyes and the next. There was the girl** **in her long white dress, her black hair hanging down her back like damp seaweed. The two boys were** **with her-the tall one with black hair like hers,**

"Alec..." **  
**

**and the smaller, fair one, whose hair gleamed like brass in** **the dim light coming through the windows high above.**

"and Jace"

**The fair boy was standing with his hands in his** **pockets, facing the punk kid, who was tied to a pillar with what looked like piano wire, his hands** **stretched behind him, his legs bound at the ankles. His face was pulled tight with pain and fear.** **Heart hammering in her chest, Clary ducked behind the nearest concrete pillar and peered around it. She** **watched as the fair-haired boy paced back and forth, his arms now crossed over his chest. "So," he said.**   
**"You still haven't told me if there are any other of your kind with you."**

  
**Your kind?**   
**Clary wondered what he was talking about. Maybe she'd stumbled into some kind of gang war.**   
**"I don't know what you're talking about." The blue-haired boy's tone was pained but surly.**   
**"He means other demons," said the dark-haired boy, speaking for the first time. "You do know what a**   
**demon is, don't you?"**   
**The boy tied to the pillar turned his face away, his mouth working.**   
**"Demons," drawled the blond boy, tracing the word on the air with his finger. "Religiously defined as**   
**hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, to be any**   
**malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension-"**   
**"That's enough, Jace," said the girl.**   
**"Isabelle's right," agreed the taller boy. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics-or demonology."**   
**They're crazy,** **Clary thought.Actually crazy. Jace raised his head and smiled. There was something fierce about the gesture, something that reminded**   
**Clary of documentaries she'd watched about lions on the Discovery Channel, the way the big cats would**   
**raise their heads and sniff the air for prey. "Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much," he said, confidingly.**   
**"Doyou think I talk too much?"**

The "Yes" was pronounced by everyone

  
**The blue-haired boy didn't reply. His mouth was still working. "I could give you information," he said. "I**   
**know where Valentine is."**   
**Jace glanced back at Alec, who shrugged. "Valentine's in the ground," Jace said. "The thing's just toying**   
**with us."**   
**Isabelle tossed her hair. "Kill it, Jace," she said. "It's not going to tell us anything."**   
**Jace raised his hand, and Clary saw dim light spark off the knife he was holding. It was oddly**   
**translucent, the blade clear as crystal, sharp as a shard of glass, the hilt set with red stones.**   
**The bound boy gasped. "Valentine is back!" he protested, dragging at the bonds that held his hands**   
**behind his back. "All the Infernal Worlds know it-I know it-I can tell you where he is-"**   
**Rage flared suddenly in Jace's icy eyes. "By the Angel, every time we capture one of you bastards, you**   
**claim you know where Valentine is. Well, we know where he is too. He's in hell. And you-" Jace turned**   
**the knife in his grasp, the edge sparking like a line of fire. "You canjoin him there."**   
**Clary could take no more. She stepped out from behind the pillar. "Stop!" she cried. "You can't do this."**   
**Jace whirled, so startled that the knife flew from his hand and clattered against the concrete floor.**   
**Isabelle and Alec turned along with him, wearing identical expressions of astonishment. The blue-haired**   
**boy hung in his bonds, stunned and gaping.**   
**It was Alec who spoke first. "What's this?" he demanded, looking from Clary to his companions, as if**   
**they might know what she was doing there.**

"Now I'm not even a she, I'm an it" "you were always an it for me Clary"

  
**"It's a girl," Jace said, recovering his composure. "Surely you've seen girls before, Alec. Your sister**   
**Isabelle is one." He took a step closer to Clary, squinting as if he couldn't quite believe what he was**   
**seeing. "A mundie girl," he said, half to himself. "And she can see us."**   
**"Of course I can see you," Clary said. "I'm not blind, you know."**   
**"Oh, but you are," said Jace, bending to pick up his knife. "You just don't know it." He straightened up.**   
**"You'd better get out of here, if you know what's good for you."**   
**"I'm not going anywhere," Clary said. "If I do, you'll kill him." She pointed at the boy with the blue hair.**   
**"That's true," admitted Jace, twirling the knife between his fingers. "What do you care if I kill him or**   
**not?"** **"Be-because-," Clary spluttered. "You can't just go around killing people."**

  
**"You're right," said Jace. "You can't go around killing people." He pointed at the boy with blue hair,**   
**whose eyes were slitted. Clary wondered if he'd fainted. "That's not a person, little girl. It may look like a person and talk like a person and maybe even bleed like a person. But it's a monster."**   
**"Jace,"** **said Isabelle warningly. "That's enough."**   
**"You're crazy," Clary said, backing away from him. "I've called the police, you know. They'll be here any**   
**second."**   
**"She's lying," said Alec, but there was doubt on his face. "Jace, do you-"**   
**He never got to finish his sentence. At that moment the blue-haired boy, with a high, yowling cry, tore**   
**free of the restraints binding him to the pillar, and flung himself on Jace.**

  
**They fell to the ground and rolled together, the blue-haired boy tearing at Jace with hands that glittered**   
**as if tipped with metal. Clary backed up, wanting to run, but her feet caught on a loop of wiring and she**   
**went down, knocking the breath out of her chest. She could hear Isabelle shrieking. Rolling over, Clary**   
**saw the blue-haired boy sitting on Jace's chest. Blood gleamed at the tips of his razorlike claws.**   
**Isabelle and Alec were running toward them, Isabelle brandishing a whip in her hand. The blue-haired**   
**boy slashed at Jace with claws extended. Jace threw an arm up to protect himself, and the claws raked**   
**it, splattering blood. The blue-haired boy lunged again-and Isabelle's whip came down across his back.**   
**He shrieked and fell to the side.**

  
**Swift as a flick of Isabelle's whip, Jace rolled over. There was a blade gleaming in his hand. He sank the**   
**knife into the blue-haired boy's chest. Blackish liquid exploded around the hilt. The boy arched off the**   
**floor, gurgling and twisting. With a grimace Jace stood up. His black shirt was blacker now in some**   
**places, wet with blood. He looked down at the twitching form at his feet, reached down, and yanked out**   
**the knife. The hilt was slick with black fluid.**   
**The blue-haired boy's eyes flickered open. His eyes, fixed on Jace, seemed to burn. Between his teeth,**   
**he hissed,"So be it. The Forsaken will take you all."**   
**Jace seemed to snarl. The boy's eyes rolled back. His body began to jerk and twitch as he crumpled,**   
**folding in on himself, growing smaller and smaller until he vanished entirely.**

"It ended already? I was hoping for something more... "

  
**Clary scrambled to her feet, kicking free of the electrical wiring. She began to back away. None of them**   
**was paying attention to her. Alec had reached Jace and was holding his arm, pulling at the sleeve,**   
**probably trying to get a good look at the wound. Clary turned to run-and found her way blocked by**   
**Isabelle, whip in hand. The gold length of it was stained with dark fluid. She flicked it toward Clary, and**   
**the end wrapped itself around her wrist and jerked tight. Clary gasped with pain and surprise.**   
**"Stupid little mundie," Isabelle said between her teeth. "You could have gotten Jace killed."**   
**"He's crazy," Clary said, trying to pull her wrist back. The whip bit deeper into her skin. "You're all**   
**crazy. What do you think you are, vigilante killers? The police-"**

  
**"The police aren't usually interested unless you can produce a body," said Jace. Cradling his arm, he**   
**picked his way across the cable-strewn floor toward Clary. Alec followed behind him, face screwed into**   
**a scowl.**   
**Clary glanced at the spot where the boy had disappeared from, and said nothing. There wasn't even a smear of blood there-nothing to show that the boy had ever existed.**   
**"They return to their home dimensions when they die," said Jace. "In case you were wondering."**   
**"Jace," Alec hissed. "Be careful."**   
**Jace drew his arm away. A ghoulish freckling of blood marked his face. He still reminded her of a lion,**   
**with his wide-spaced, light-colored eyes, and that tawny gold hair. "She can see us, Alec," he said. "She**   
**already knows too much."**

  
**"So what do you want me to do with her?" Isabelle demanded.**   
**"Let her go," Jace said quietly. Isabelle shot him a surprised, almost angry look, but didn't argue. The**   
**whip slithered away, freeing Clary's arm. She rubbed her sore wrist and wondered how the hell she was**   
**going to get out of there.**   
**"Maybe we should bring her back with us," Alec said. "I bet Hodge would like to talk to her."**   
**"No way are we bringing her to the Institute," said Isabelle. "She's amundie."**   
**"Or is she?" said Jace softly. His quiet tone was worse than Isabelle's snapping or Alec's anger. "Have**   
**you had dealings with demons, little girl? Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have**   
**you-"**   
**"My name is not 'little girl', "**

"that's something familiar and very annoing"

**Clary interrupted. "And I have no idea what you're talking about."Don't**   
**you? said a voice in the back of her head. Yousaw that boy vanish into thin air. Jace isn't crazy -you**   
**just wish he was."I don't believe in-in demons, or whatever you-"**   
**"Clary?" It was Simon's voice. She whirled around. He was standing by the storage room door. One of**   
**the burly bouncers who'd been stamping hands at the front door was next to him. "Are you okay?" He**   
**peered at her through the gloom. "Why are you in here by yourself? What happened to the guys-you**   
**know, the ones with the knives?"**

  
**Clary stared at him, then looked behind her, where Jace, Isabelle, and Alec stood, Jace still in his**   
**bloody shirt with the knife in his hand. He grinned at her and dropped a half-apologetic, half-mocking**   
**shrug. Clearly he wasn't surprised that neither Simon nor the bouncer could see them.**   
**Somehow neither was Clary. Slowly she turned back to Simon, knowing how she must look to him,**   
**standing alone in a damp storage room, her feet tangled in bright plastic wiring cables. "I thought they**   
**went in here," she said lamely. "But I guess they didn't. I'm sorry." She glanced from Simon, whose**   
**expression was changing from worried to embarrassed, to the bouncer, who just looked annoyed. "It**   
**was a mistake."**

  
**Behind her, Isabelle giggled.**   
  
**"I don't believe it," Simon said stubbornly as Clary, standing at the curb, tried desperately to hail a cab.**   
**Street cleaners had come down Orchard while they were inside the club, and the street was glossed**   
**black with oily water. "I know," she agreed. "You'd think there'd besome cabs. Where is everyone going at midnight on a** **Sunday?" She turned back to him, shrugging. "You think we'd have better luck on Houston?"**   
**"Not the cabs," Simon said. "You-I don't believe you. I don't believe those guys with the knives just**   
**disappeared."**   
**Clary sighed. "Maybe there weren't any guys with knives, Simon. Maybe I just imagined the whole**   
**thing."**   
**"No way." Simon raised his hand over his head, but the oncoming taxis whizzed by him, spraying dirty**   
**water. "I saw your face when I came into that storage room. You looked seriously freaked out, like**   
**you'd seen a ghost."**

  
**Clary thought of Jace with his lion-cat eyes. She glanced down at her wrist, braceleted by a thin red line**   
**where Isabelle's whip had curled.No, not a ghost, she thought.Something even weirder than that.**   
**"It was just a mistake," she said wearily. She wondered why she wasn't telling him the truth. Except, of**   
**course, that he'd think she was crazy. And there was something about what had happened-something**   
**about the black blood bubbling up around Jace's knife, something about his voice when he'd said Have**   
**you talked with the Night Children? that she wanted to keep to herself.**   
**"Well, it was a hell of an embarrassing mistake," Simon said. He glanced back at the club, where a thin**   
**line still snaked out the door and halfway down the block. "I doubt they'll ever let us back into**   
**Pandemonium."**

  
**"What do you care? You hate Pandemonium." Clary raised her hand again as a yellow shape sped**   
**toward them through the fog. This time, though, the taxi screeched to a halt at their corner, the driver**   
**laying into his horn as if he needed to get their attention.**   
**"Finally we get lucky." Simon yanked the taxi door open and slid onto the plastic-covered backseat.**   
**Clary followed, inhaling the familiar New York cab smell of old cigarette smoke, leather, and hair spray.**   
**"We're going to Brooklyn," Simon said to the cabbie, and then he turned to Clary. "Look, you know you**   
**can tell me anything, right?"**   
**Clary hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Sure, Simon," she said. "I know I can."**   
**She slammed the cab door shut behind her, and the taxi took off into the night.**


End file.
